DEATH'S BLOOM

By P. Mari

Death dared not defile you. Never did that vain

power extinguish the essence of your beauty.

It tried to suck your blood, a vampire clinging

to a virgin, while the red clots formed a bud,

rose-like, on sheets all swirled. Sickness tried

once more to paint grayed hues on your face

and take the blue from your eyes, the red hue from

your lips, but not succeeding. And the expression

you wore was of a dimmed star only sleeping.

I could have sworn you were still dreaming.

Then I saw your brave soul ascend the dark tower,

standing fearless against Death, you acquiesced,

and softly curled up like a pale white flower.

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